All In Good Time
by Lavern Alpha Logan Rose
Summary: Somthing has happend to Watson that has turned his whole world upside down, and it may just be the death of him... I suck at summarys, always have. My first real finfic so please be good to me, but reviews are always nice even if they are brutaly honest. Fem Watson! Slash (Yessssss there is Johnlock later in the story) if you dont like, dont read.
1. Let me in

"Watson? Watson, are you alright?"

In all my years working with Holmes, with all of the strange cases that I have been brought into, this is by far the most unsettling thing that has ever happened.

"My good doctor, are you in there?" There is a rattling of my door handle. "Watson? Have you locked your door?"

_'Yes I have' _I think to myself, very glad that I had the hindsight to put in place that small precaution. Through the door I hear the sound of murmuring further in the hall, too quiet for either of the voices to belong to Sherlock.

"Watson, so you know Nanny has brought up your morning tea and-" Holmes' words are cut off by the sound of my fiancé yelling out my name.

"JOHN! Where are you?"

"Sorry old boy, I tried to give you fair warning." I could hear the cringe in the detective's voice.

"Holmes, where is John?"

"Ah! What a surprise. It is good to see you, how have you been?"

"I have been well Holmes, thank you. Where is my fiancé?"

"Well that's wonderful to hear. Would you like some tea?"

"Would I like some…?" I hear Mary breath heavily, using the restraint that she has to keep herself from yelling at Holmes, who for his part is doing a horrible job of distracting Mary.

"How to you take your tea, with one lump of sugar or two? Or would you prefer scalded milk?"

"HOLMES!" Mary roared, loosing all sound of composure in her voice.

"Yes?" The detective replies calmly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"You are going to tell me where John is. He said he was staying here last night and that he would see me at eight for breakfast. I waited for half an hour, he never showed up."

"Well that's not like John at all," Sherlock mused.

"I suspect something is wrong."

Both Mary and Holmes' voices have gone quiet. The worry in the silence traveling through the door to my room is palpable.

"Do you know where John is?"

Silence is all that answers Mary's question.

"Do you know where John is?" Mary asks more forcefully.

Again silence, only this time I hear the rustling of a dress over the wood in the hall then a slight knocking on my door. Sherlock has sold me out, though to his credit he refused to do so out loud.

"John? Are you in there?" Its Mary, I can almost see the concern in her face through the thick wood of my door.

"John, I do hope you are alright. Please answer me. John?"

I do not answer her; I can't tell her what has happened, she would never talk to me again. I hear her turn away from the door.

"Sherlock, I have to go. I am meeting with my mother at nine. Figure out what is wrong with him, please."

"I will Mary, I promise." Holmes had used Mary's name. Holmes never uses Mary's name.

'_He must be worried'_ I think. After a few minutes of silence Sherlock speaks again.

"John, please unlock the door."

I don't move. I don't even get off the bed. I know I am only prolonging the enviable; if I don't open the door Holmes will either climb around to my window gaining access to my room that way, or he will kick down the door.

"Watson," Sherlock's voice is filled with warning. "Open the door now or I will break it down. You have ten seconds."

I pull the sheets up closer to my chest like a child hiding from the unknown monsters that lurk in the dark, willing the threat to go away; wishing that I could wake up from this horrible nightmare, knowing that this is no dream.

"Ten…"

_Maybe he won't do it_.

"Nine…"

_Who am I kidding this is Sherlock Holmes I am thinking of._

"Eight…"

_If Holmes wants something nothing will stop him._

"Seven…"

_What will he think of me?_

"Six…"

_He is my oldest Friend._

"Five…"

_And what will Mary say?_

"Four…"

_My beautiful fiancé,_

"Three…"

_I know she will leave me when she finds out._

"Two…"

_Holmes will leave me; I will be left alone to deal with this._

"One…"

Bang! The door flies open, three inches of solid oak shattering into millions of splinters on the floor. The lock still held in the frame. I close my eyes; I don't want to see Sherlock or the look of horror on his face.

"My god Watson, you… you… you're a woman."

oOoOoOoOo


	2. What now

"My god Watson, you…you…you're a woman."

I hang my head in shame, my longer hair hiding my face from the gaze of Sherlock. I cam all but feel his eyes drilling into my mind.

"Watson…I…when…how?" Sherlock stutters out, for once his brilliant mind fails him, unable to comprehend the sight before him.

"I don't understand. How did this happen?"

Silent tears leak out my eyes without consent. Sherlock, ever the keen observer, notices,

"John," his voice is quiet. I can't bring myself to look at him. I'm humiliated and sacred. Even during the war when I was faced with death nearly every day, I cannot remember being this sacred. Even when I was lying injured waiting to be hauled off the field I was never this afraid. Now I find myself wishing that I could disappear into the bed and not be seen.

"John," Sherlock's voice is much closer than when I last heard it. To my surprise I feel the bed sag under the added weight of Holmes, who had decided to sit down.

'He's not leaving.' The realization hits me. My best friend is not about to let me deal with this by my lonesome. I am unable to hide my shameful tears. I jump when I feel Sherlock pull me close to himself, holding me in a reassuring embrace. I do not fight him; instead I lean into the touch, and let myself cry occasionally giving out a choked back sob.

"What's wrong with me?" I finally ask the question that has filled my mind from the time I woke up.

"Nothing," Sherlock replies while stroking my hair in a soothing way. "There is nothing wrong with you."

We stay like that for the rest of the hour, only breaking apart when the hall clock strikes nine. I find that I have to climb out of Sherlock's lap. I'm not quite sure when I moved into his lap or when I had closed my eyes and decided to just breathe in the smell of the older man.

"You have been working on a case." I observe.

"Yes I have. How can you tell?"

"The way you smell."

"The way I smell? Please elaborate." replies the detective.

I smile, Holmes's natural curiosity getting the better of him. But I do not begrudge answering my friend.

"You smell of tobacco, cheep alcohol, and newspaper. You only read the paper when you are looking for something."

"Very good Watson, I do believe you are gaining deductive powers of your own. You however smell like strawberries."

I resist the urge to shove him off my bed, if only just. But I recognize Sherlock's comment for what it is – A veiled compliment so I decide to take it with the grain of salt that is the ego of Sherlock Holmes.

"What is the case you are working?" I ask, my curiosity now getting the better of me.

"All in good time my dear Watson, but as of now we have a more pressing matter at hand." Announces Sherlock as he rises from my bed.

"And what, do tell, would this pressing matter be?"

"Finding you something to wear," Says the detective with a smirk, and with that Holmes leaves my room. I only have to wait for a few moments before the man is back carrying a small trunk with him.

"I'll leave you to it to decide what you want to wear." He turns to leave the room once again but suddenly turns back around. "For what it is worth, I will shut the door." Sherlock goes to leave again and with only a slight pause, he leaves my room.

I decide to humor the man by looking in the trunk. To my surprise I find it filled with women's clothing, all in good condition, and all pristine. I also find a pair of shoes, gloves, and three fans. I decide I don't want to know why the detective has a trunk full of women's clothing and just accept the clothing. In ten minutes I am dressed, and no sooner do I hear a gentle knock on my door.

"Come in." I say, only slightly shocked by the higher pitch of my voice.

"Glad to see you in a better frame of mind," says Sherlock as he pushes the remains of my door open.

I nod to him to acknowledge his presence; the majority of my attention is being focused on attempting to put up my hair.

"Would you like some assistance?"

"That would be nice, thank you." I admit. Sherlock steers me over to the bed and sits me down on it. Turning my back to my friend, I wait patently while he braids my hair. Deft hands glide over my head, pulling and plucking hair when required. After a time Sherlock helps me up off the bed and directs me to the mirror. I have to stop for a time to examine my reflection, turning my head ever so slightly to see all sides of my hair, which glints a soft gold in the morning light.

"Thank you, Holmes." I say. My hair is beautiful, and I find that I have to ask a question.

"Where did you learn how to do this?"

"The hair?" Sherlock gives me a crooked smile. "Growing up, my mother had arthritis in her hands and found her unable to do her own hair. Both my brother and I helped with her day to day tasks."

I nod and smile, great full for all his help. Something must have shown in my face because the next second I find my friend speaking.

"You were afraid that I would up and leave when I found out about…" Holmes gestured to me. "This?"

I sigh, I don't want to tell my friend how much loosing him frightened me, but I also feel that he deserves the truth.

"Yes, I admit, I was worried about how you would react." I take a breath, "I thought that, perhaps, you might up and leave."

Sherlock seems taken aback by my words.

"My dear doctor, why would I leave? I am shocked, yes. But you are the only person who will put up with me. I would be lost for conversation if I pushed you away."

It seemed true enough to me so I simply nodded my head again and returned to the matter at hand.

"Now, what is this case that you are working?"

oOoTBCoOo


End file.
